Short Stories: Lockwood's Childhood
by Dakalu23385
Summary: A bunch of stories based on Lockwood and his childhood. It started off only about his coat, and how he came about it, but I got slightly OTT and left the realms of the coat and just went crazy. Rated T for later chapters on parents and how they "ended," or however you put it. (abandoned, kinda maybe, idk what I'm doing or where this is going?)
1. Yes, Anthony

**A/** **N: EEK, okay so I received a really nice comment from BookProtector, and then had this prolonged moment of feeling terrible for abandoning my commitment to fanfiction, and then read through the story to refresh my memory. Upon reading the story over, i cringed dramatically as I saw my wrong usage of there/their/they're and here/hear, and typos. I'm updating the chapters, and HOPEFULLY am about to write a new chapter, if I can think of something interesting and cool to write about XD**

 **Yes, Anthony?**

 **Lockwood: 6 years old:**

I watched my dad. He was playing piano in that great big jacket of his. The sleeves were rolled up, but they kept on getting in the way, and they stopped him from playing as well as he could.

"Dad?" My dad paused and turned around.

"Yes, Anthony?" I looked at him with my slightly too large eyes and thought on how I could word the sentence. So, then I asked,

"Why do you wear that big, old, smelly coat? It's all long and it gets in the way, Dad!" My dad laughed,

"Because, Anthony, it was your grandfather's, my father's, and it's my way of remembering that he's always nearby, even if _I_ can't see him." I nod, and then,

"Can I have your big coat when _I'm_ older? Maybe when I'm 18? That's a _really_ big age!" My dad thought for a moment,

"Yes, Anthony, that is a _really_ big age, but the point is that when I'm _gone_ you can have the coat. It's to remember me. Besides, I need the coat now!" I nod, that made sense, but-

"Dad?"

"Yes, Anthony?" he replied in a slightly exasperated tone that was undetectable to my six year old ears, so I continued,

"You won't go though dad? Will you? You'll always be there, right?" My dad smiled,

"Yes, Anthony."

oOo

 **Later that day...**

"Mum?" my mum turned around from the stove. She was preparing dinner for us.

"Yes dear?"

"Dad says that he wears his big coat to remember his daddy. What do you have to remember _your_ daddy?" my mum considered that for a moment,

"I have a necklace. My dad gave it to me when I was little."

"Can I see it?" my mum nodded and took out a beautiful, intricate necklace. I gasped,

"It's pretty!" she nods and is about to turn around again when I ask,

"What about your mummy? Do you remember her too?" my mum considered that too, before replying,

"I have this house."

"Can I have this house when I'm older? Maybe 17? Or 18? That's a good age!" my mum smiled,

"I'll need this house when you're 18, silly!" then she turns around for real and starts cooking again.

oOo

It was only when I was 10 that I realised I might be getting these mementos earlier than I expected.


	2. Piano Lessons

**[A/N: hi again! Thanks to ligersrcool and Celestialite for reviewing! I borrowed Lockwood and co from the library when I first read it, so I'm not sure how true this is, but I think there was a piano at Portland road, so in this chapter Locky learns piano. Thanks, tell me if you like it in your reviews]**

 **EDIT UPDATE: eek, I cringed over the SPaG errors: I WILL NEVER SHAME AGAIN! psh.**

 **Piano Lessons:**

 **Lockwood: 7 years old:**

"Dad...?"

"Yes, Anthony?"

"Can you teach me how to play your piano?" Dad turned around and looked at me seriously,

"Piano is a very hard instrument, Anthony. Are you sure you have the patience?" I nod, vigorously. It's always appealed to me, playing the piano, "Alright, but you can't just give up, and you have to practise." I nod again and follow him from his office into the living room, where the big piano sits quietly, waiting for me to play it. I hope I'm good.

My dad shows me his old piano books and teaches me the first 3 notes. A, B, C.

"It's like the alphabet! A, B, C!" I exclaim loudly. If it was like the alphabet all the wat through, learning piano would be _easy._

"Yes, Anthony, it is like the alphabet, but when you get to G, you start back at A again." I frown. That was silly.

Dad continued to teach me piano up until he said he was tired, and mum said it was tea time, so dad wasn't allowed to teach me anymore piano until tomorrow.

oOo

 **3 weeks later:**

Soon I could play a very bashy version of Twinkle Twinkle and dad said he was very proud of me, and that I was a fast learner. Even my big sister Jessica said that I was good. She played the flute. It was a weird sound, and she used to play me it when I was _little_. She still does sometimes.

Dad says that if I practise REALLY hard, then I can do my grade 1 in November! That's 13 months away! I'm worried that I might forget some notes though, and then I won't be able to do my grade 1, and then Jessica won't be a proud big sister! She's 14 years old. 7 years older than me! She has a boyfriend, but I don't like him. He's called Kipps, and he's really nice to my sister, and makes her happy, but he's mean to me.

I can't hurt him though, because then he'll jab me with his rapier. He's 17, and his sight is only just going away, but he's going to be a supervisor for Fittes. He might even be _my_ supervisor. That's a scary thought, but I could accidently on purpose jab _him_ with _my_ rapier. Mum says I can join an agency when I'm 8.

One day, I'll own an agency, and I won't let anyone get in the way. Not even Kipps.

 **[A/N: I wrote the whole of this on my phone, so please excuse the SPaG, also, his sister is called Kedvesség because it means kindness, and I think she should be kind and all. She's dating Kipps, because in the first book Kipps has a "catch in his voice that [Lucy] didn't understand" so I'm guessing they were close. Thanks again for ligersrcool and Celestialite.]**

 **EDIT: I've changed Kedvesség's name to Jessica, because since I originally wrote this, little Locky's sister has a name and everything!**


	3. First Day Of School

**[A/N: Hi! Thanks again to ligersrcool for reviewing my previous chapter. I'm hoping to update every other day and possibly more often, so that this doesn't become a neglected side project too quickly. I'm thinking of Tomas and Omaega for Lockwood's parents. Review me suggestion if you have any :) Also, Jonathan Stroud could be reading our fanfictions. He could be anyone of us... Creepy, makes me want to work harder now... P.S: I'm going backwards now, to when Locky was 5.]**

 **EDIT: wow. "doesn't become a neglected side project". ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR PAST ME, PLEASE! JUST, wow.**

 **Lockwood: First Day, 5 years old:**

I didn't want to go to school. The uniform was all grey and horrible and it itched the back of my neck.

"Don't want to go, mummy!" My mum had to practically drag me across the playground, where she met with a tall lady called a tee-chur. I don't like teechurs. They're scary. One girl said that they don't let you go home at the end of the week if you're naughty. I'm going to be good. Otherwise I can't go home. Mummy says it's a dee-ten-shon. She says that reception children don't get deetenshuns. I said good, but then she laughed. What's so funny?

"Mummy!" I wail. She's walking away and leaving me with the teechur! "Help! Mummy! I don't wanna go skuul!" That's where I'm going for the day. Sk-uul. Sounds like skull. Maybe that's what I'll be at the end of the day, a wormy old skull left at skuul for the teechurs to eat. Maybe I'll be a ghost, and then mummy would fight me with her rapier. It's like a long, thin sword, and she says that the ghosts won't hurt me when she's there. But she's not here now! Only the teechur is here now. And the other children.

"What's your name, deary?" the scary teechur asks me. I stare at her, "You don't need to be afraid. I won't hurt you." Who said she would? Did she know that I knew she was a scary child eating monster?

"MynameisAnthony." I say hurriedly, hoping she understood what I said.

"Anthony, deary? Is that right?" I shake my head, confused. I said Anthony! Not Anthony, deary! That wan't my name. Silly teechurs.

"Just Anthony. Not deary." the teechur smiled, showing her teeth. She seemed less scary now, but that was part of her tactic. She was luring me into a false sense of security. "Come this way then, Just Anthony." I was about to tell her again that my name was just _Anthony_ and nothing else, but then I realised what she was doing. She was joking. Phew. I thought she was just stupid.

oOo

"Now, children, what do you think this letter is? A, B, or C?" I was even more confused now. Wasn't the _teechur_ supposed to teechur us? Shouldn't _she_ know which letter is which? I put my hand up.

"Teechur?"

"Yes Just Anthony?" she asked, smiling.

"I have two questions, and one request and a statement. Firstly, please call me Anthony, not deary and certainly not Just Anthony. I don't like it. And my statement is: I need to go to the toilet. And my first question is: shouldn't you know the letters, because you're meant to be teechuring us, not the other way round. And secondly: where _is_ the toilet?" It seemed as though the whole room had gone silent, and the teechur wasn't smiling anymore, "What's wrong?" I ask the class in general, as no one was speaking. Well, strictly speaking not even no one was speaking, because no one was called no one, but still. It was a metaphorical phrase that I had to accept, even if I didn't like it.

"Anthony, don't you _ever_ speak to a teacher like that again! I will be speaking to your mother about this!" the teechur said loudly. What did I do? And so the rest of the day went on, with the teechur teechuring us about things that I had already learnt at home, so it was _very_ boring. Just like my sister, Jesse, had said. I always call her Jesse, not Jessica, and she likes that. She's 12 now.

oOo

"Mummy? The teechur wants to see you about me." my mummy looked worried.

"What have you done?"

"I don't know mummy! I asked why she didn't know her alphabet. She's teechuring us, not the other way round, and then everyone stopped talking!" Mummy sighed and started to walk over, but before she reached her, she turned around to me and said,

"Sometimes Anthony, you just need to answer, and not ask, and also, it's a teacher teaches us, not a teechur teechuringes us." I sigh. Mummy didn't understand!

"But mummy! She called me Deary, and Just Anthony! And she forgot to tell me where the toilet is, so I got lost and had to ask a scary big kid. He said he was called Tomas. I said he can't be though. Tomas is _daddy's_ name. Isn't it mummy? _And,_ she said she wanted to see you, but she saw you this morning, and she's seeing you now. Look! She's seeing you with her big, scary eyes!" Mummy sighed and went to the tea-cher. Teacher. I notice my sister is also here. She will understand. She always understands. But then I notice that she's with another person. A boy. Why is she with a different boy, when she has daddy and me? She can't like _three_ boys!

"Who's he?" I ask Jesse. She giggles and turns around.

"This is my _very_ close friend, Quill Kipps." she giggles again as he whispers into her ear something. Eww. They're in _love_. I wonder, are they going to get married and have lots of babies? Then I'd have to be an Uncle!

"Are you in love? Will you get married and have lots of babies like Aunty Denise?" I ask, "Will I be the page boy thingy?" Jesse giggles and blushes, but the boy, Quill Kipps, puffs out his chest proudly and answers,

"Yes, of course." He smiles snidely. Mummy came over before I could come back with an equally mean remark. Jesse introduced Quill to her, all smiles and happiness. I gag. That's so _disgusting._ I won't ever fall in love. It's so disgustingly soppy.

 **A/N: and then Lucy comes and breaks his heart.**


	4. SS, pg: 359-371

**[Disclaimer: If I owned Lockwood and Co, I would not be here, writing fanfiction…**

 **A/N: thanks to all of two people who have reviewed my story! Ligersrcool: Young Lockwood sends** _ **all**_ **his hugs to you and his family.** **Celestialite** : **I see what you mean, but she isn't** _ **responding!**_ **I need Lockyle in the Hollow Boy!**

 **This is from The Screaming Staircase, chapter 22 to the end of chapter 23, enjoy!]**

 **EDIT: don't really need to say much, just enjoy :)**

 **Lockwood's P.O.V (duh):**

It seemed as if the world had gone dark forever. I couldn't see a single death glow in the room, we were alone. The darkness made it seem so quiet, and eerie compared to the Red room, even though it was safer now. I could hear Lucy and George panting.

The air was old and musty, no one had been here for a long time. I don't know if that's good or bad. Maybe both.

"George? Are you okay?" Trust Lucy to be the first to ask about others. She could be in any state of pain and would still care more about other people.

"No. Someone's buttocks are flattening my foot." And you can always trust George to have some sarcastic and irritable comment up his sleeve, even in the direst of situations.

I could hear Lucy shuffling irritably,

"I meant the plasm-where you got hit." she replied, and I could almost see her beautiful face displaying a look of utmost annoyance at George.

"Oh. Yes," George catches on, "It didn't touch my hand, though I think this jacket's _ruined_ ,"

"That's _good._ _"_ _Lucy grumps back,_ _"_ It's an awful jacket." I grin at Lucy's comment. You can also trust her to be the one to get George back, "Who's got a torch? I just dropped mine." I realised I would have to speak now.

"Me too." I reply. I could hear George fumbling around,

"Here," George found his torch and turned it on. It was a situation where I would have preferred to stay in the dark. We didn't look quite so bedraggled in the darkness.

Lucy and George were sat close together with their eyes large and watchful. They both looked equally as afraid as each other. George was retro style. Green and white and pink. The green and white came from the plasm, obviously. I think the pink was the remains of his coat. Lucy's leggings were in a similar state. Minus the pink.

I didn't want to brag, but I would say I managed to escape most of the attack. My father's coat was, unfortunately, stained lightly, but that would come out in the wash, and part of my hair had been singed a bit, and other than the fact that my brain was whirring, and that I could see my sister's terrified face clearly replicated in Lucy's much similar one: I was calm. Calm, and I sat as still as possible and kept my breathing calm too. Calm. Calm. Calm.

I needed to say something more. That's the problem with being a leader. You always must be the first to say the encouragement.

"Well, it's all over for the moment." That's what my sister said when our parents died. That there was nothing left to lose. She was wrong. I lost her. I closed my eyes and drew my thoughts to something else. Lucy. No matter what I did, my thoughts somehow came back to Lucy. Biscuits: Lucy. Ghosts: Lucy. _George_ : Lucy. In some ways, it was annoying. In other way, it was comforting to know that I had someone to trust now. Other than George.

I sit up and declare: "We're in good shape. We've lost the heavy-duty chains and the stuff in the bags, but we've got our rapiers, iron and silver seals. And we've found what we wanted now." Yes, what we wanted. What I want is to be back at home with my sister, my mum and my dad drinking tea and eating biscuits without having to worry about ghosts at all.

Lucy stared at the wall that we'd just been on the other side of.

"Why couldn't it come after us? Ghosts can pass through walls." Lucy asks. Argh! I have no idea. Why _couldn't_ it come after us? I glance at George from over Lucy's shoulder. He grinned an evil grin. Ooh, I was going to murder him if we weren't dead already. I shrugged at Lucy.

"In some cases a visitor is tied completely to the room where it met its death that it no longer has any conception of there being any adjacent space at all. So..." Okay, doing good. What else can you make up on the spot to make myself sound calm and prepared? Aha, "So... when we left its hunting ground, it was as if we ceased to exist, as if we ceased to be..." Oh, let's hope that satisfied her. George thumbs up to me.

"You haven't really got a clue, have you?" She looks at me. She's doing the eyes. Creepy. There's really no point in lying to her when she reads me so easily.

"No." George mimes slapping himself in the face and then pipes up,

"Here's a possibility," he waves his torch over the door. "See that ring we pulled to close the door?" Yes, I did. I nodded, "It's made of iron. And look, there's a lattice" A what? "of iron strips all across the wood. And down the stone too... They look old to me. Someone's fixed them some time, long ago, as a way of hemming in that particular visitor. It keeps the passage safe." Thank god George was here to save the day.

George swivelled the torch around to show our surroundings and it showed a passageway to the right. The whole passageway was covered in spiders and their webs

"Don't like all those spiders," Lucy comments,

"The side passage is mainly clear of them," I remark quietly, although I knew what it meant. It meant we were very, _very_ close to the source. I'm not sure if that's a good thing anymore, "because of all the iron. But once we turn the corner we're back in the original priory building, and we'll be getting near the Source. That means more spiders and stronger visitations. From now on we use all available weapons as soon as anything shows up." It would be a long trek, especially seeing as we are all tired, out of breath, and know that danger and possibly _death_ are coming soon. Maybe that what mother felt before she was going to die. Once she and father were gone, she would have known that I and my sister were on our own.

I notice that George's torch has gotten considerably dimmer, "Save it." I take the matches out of my pocket and light one. "They'll be a good indicator for physic build-up too. Keep your eye on them." I continued as I distributed the rest between them.

( **time skip to page 365** )

"Fine, we'll look at the map," I inform George, "Then we can see-" I whip my head round. I could see other light out of the corner of my eye. My candle grew dim. It was a small boy. We all waited with our rapiers drawn. His glow was frail, and he only lit himself, it made it hard to see how far away he was. The boy was fair haired and short, and he had a round, soft face. "Check out the _clothes_ ," I whisper. He wore Fittes uniform, from a long time ago.

"Oh Lord." Lucy whispers, "It's the Fittes kid. The one that died in here." I began to hear a small weeping sound, but it was so faint that I couldn't be sure. The boy started to drift down a passageway, and then it's light died out and left us in darkness, for all but the flickering candlelight.

"I could really do with a mint now." I ignore George and turn to Lucy,

"Did he speak to you at all?" I ask her,

"No. But he was trying to tell us something."

"That's the trouble with ghosts. They never spell it out. Well, it was presumably a warning, but we've got to keep on going. There's nothing else we can do." ... _got to keep on going. There's nothing else we can do..._ The words my sister said on the day of my parents' death echoed in my ears. We _could_ have done something. I could have gone back. I didn't have to leave my parents. Not with a murder and a thief in the house with them. _But you didn't know. You are only a child._ That's what my sister told me. I still don't know if I should blame myself. I still blame myself.

We came to a spiral staircase, it was very narrow and steep. It looked very old.

"Four degrees centigrade," George comments. The small amount of light shown on his glasses and turned his breath green.

"Seems we're going down." I wait for someone to correct me. No one does, "Was this on the medieval floor-plan, George?" I ask George.

"I don't know..." Unusual of George not to know... "Actually-" Thank God, "yes, I think so." Not so reassuring, "A connecting stair from dormitories to refectory. Want me to check?"

"No." It would take longer if we dwelled here with the map, which I didn't want, "No, let's get it done." I confirm with myself.

I set off down the steps first, and then George and Lucy follow me. The smoke and haze and webs made me want to cough, but I restrained myself, as the silence was so intense and with the roaring headache I had acquired, it was rather pleasant.

"Don't trip on a bit of the Fittes kid, Lockwood. He's down here somewhere." George jokes. Lucy scowls at him.

"Ugh, George. Why would you even _say_ that?"

"I guess because I'm nervous." Lucy sighed,

"Yeah... fair enough. So am I." We all were, she got that right. There was no sound, no death glows, no anything. Just nothing. Just like the Red Room. I pause and look at our surroundings.

"We're at ground level here. Must be right behind that tapestry now. You remember-the one with that picture of the dodgy bear."

"I remember." Lucy remarks, and I'm glad she did, because she nearly died there, "This is where the cold spot was." And still is according to George's readings.

"Yes, we're down to three point five degrees. That's the coldest reading in the house." George's voice sounded unusually tight, "We're getting close now."

"We'd better go slow now." I handed out more Spearmint gum and then we started down the steep steps again, heading towards cellar level.

"This staircase..." Lucy started in a casual voice, "It's not..." The staircase... Oh Lord. "It wouldn't be _the_ staircase, would it?" George chuckled,

"No. Don't worry. that was the other one." How could George be so sure?

"You're sure? Did the legends definitely say it was the main staircase of the hall?"

"Yes." George eyes betrayed him when I turned around. He looked as if he was finally realising that assumptions weren't always correct, "Well," George continued, and I dreaded his next words, "They didn't _expressively_ say it, as it happens. They just mentioned some 'old steps.' But everyone's always assumed it was the main one, what with all those carved dragons and skull niches and all the rest of it."

"Right... So they just _assumed..._ But naturally, it would have to be the main staircase, if it hadn't been anywhere."

"Yep. That's right." Both of their voice's were unusually calm.

"Though we didn't get any psychic readings at all there, did we?"

"No. And we're not getting any _here,_ either." George said, with unusual amounts of firmness in his tone. That's not like him. And wishing won't get us very far.

Lucy took of her glove and let her fingertips trail down the wall. Neither her nor George noticed when I turned to check on them both. George was wearing his hideous green hat and chewing mechanically on his gum, as if his life depended on it, and Lucy was absorbed in the wall, and then she went pale. Like, white as a sheet pale.

"Lucy?" I call to her, "What are you getting? Lucy?" I don't think she heard me, "Lucy!" She isn't responding at all. She snatched her hand away from the wall and put her glove back on.

"Erm, guys..." she called me. Suddenly, a thought hits me. The door, it had shut on us. It can't be Starkins, seeing as _he_ wouldn't come here after dark. And that would only leave...

"Of _course!_ I've been an idiot!" I stop walking and turn around. Of course! Annie would have seen _Fairfax's_ face!

"What? What is it?" George and Lucy were staring at me,

"It's been in front of us all this time!" I knew that was a possibility already, but I never had the proof. Here it was! A+W! Annie and William! It was there all the time and none of us noticed!

"What has?" _He_ had sent the burglar to take away the evidence and-

"The answer to it all! Ah, I'm such a fool!" The fishy: ' _Come here! Let us pay you lots of money for a suicidal mission, even if you are the smallest most ridiculous company in the world_ ', to the fact that he had come almost straight after the burglary! Of _course_!

"I've had enough of this. Lockwood, you've been acting oddly for days. Tell us what's going on. Clearly it's about Fairfax, and since it's _his_ job that's put us in such danger, I think you owe us an explanation." I nod. That made sense.

"Yes, I do. But first we've got to find the Source. Then-"

 **[A/N: I'm going to split this in half. It's too long! The next chapter will follow on from this one! Smile!]**

 **EDIT: yay!**


	5. SS, pg: 372-380

**[A/N: Continued...]**

"No," George interrupted, "That's not good enough. Tell us now." George insisted.

"Lockwood... Listen." That was Lucy...

"We've got to stay alert, George. There's no time to explain." And rightly said too, Lucy looked as though she was going to faint.

"Speak quickly, and use short words." Argh! Too much is going on. George yapping in one ear, Lucy pleading in the other!

"No! Both of you-shut up!" George and I look at Lucy. She has her teeth clenched and her hand curled into a fist, "Can't you hear it?" She whispers now, "It's the screaming." I frown. I cannot hear anything,

"What? No... I don't think so." I really can't hear a thing.

"Take it from me! This is the staircase! We need to get off it now." I hesitate, but she is white and shaking, so I really cannot ignore her. I grab her hand.

"All right, we'll get you to the bottom. Maybe it's only you, Lucy, who can-" I stop. Oh Lord I can hear it. It's like the sound has broken through the physical barrier and now anyone can hear it. The sound is deafening. I'll be surprised if my ears survive this. George shouted something along the lines of:

"I can hear it! If you can't then get a psychic hearing aid!"

"DOWN!" I try to shout over the noise, and I think George and Lucy got the point, "DOWN!" George shoved his hands over his ears and we all charged down the stairs. I was still holding Lucy's hand tightly. There was no way we would survive this: we were falling, jumping, tearing, falling and running through cobwebs and screams. Down and down, round and round until my head span. Shadow and figures swooped down, warded away by the iron we held. I drop the candle and I don't know where George's torch is.

We collapsed on the floor at the bottom. The screams continued a distressed howling that was infinite. Never ending, drawing out time and the joys of life from our minds. There was blood coming out of my ears and I couldn't think straight,

"Find the Source! It must be here! Somewhere in this room!" I shout, pulling George and Lucy close, I shove them away once they heard me. George stumbled into the wall and a monk reached out, ready to ghost touch him. I throw a salt bomb, and it explodes in pretty showers of green light.

The room went nowhere. There was no exit. We were stuck. Left to die in the room, no future for the company. Nothingness. Just like the rest of your family, Lockwood. Just like the rest. No future, no family. Just another child in the world. Another soul.

The whole room smelt like burning iron and salt canisters and flares. The monks raged on, dancing in and out of our reach, gone... Gone... No solution. George threw a canister of Greek fire at a shadow and the whole room shook. Our talents were useless, and our weapons were gone. Fairfax would live on. Fairfax with his bloody company. Lockwood and Co. The great failure.

George collapsed at the bottom of the steps, and I soon followed. The shadows danced in triumph at defeating us all. All... Where was Lucy? I struggle to my feet. She's there, by the well. Looking over. Ghost lock... She'll fall... She'll die... The well... The Source... I pull Lucy; she's hanging over the lip of the well, wanting to step over... Wanting death... I pull her towards me,

"No." She's not dying before I can show my love for her, "No, Lucy. That's not the way it's going to be." She cannot die. I forbid her to die. Too may have died in this world in my lifetime.

I let go of her. The well is the Source. The monks were thrown down there. Their death is wrought into the well's walls.

"Matches! Give me your matches. And your chains too!" I try to find my industrial strength flare, "I want any extra iron, and any silver seals you've got. Come on, do it! We're being dumb!" of course it was the well, that's where they died, "The well's the Source, of course it is. That's where the visitors are." I tear the final canister from my belt; the screaming was forgotten in my mind. This was my aim. To save Lucy and to save the future of the company. Lucy's future. I cut the long fuse, no time to wait for it to burn. It'll have to go, "Take it! Light the end!"

I dragged the chains to the well. I kicked them into the well and shout, "Run, Lucy! Get to the stairs!" She's lit the fuse and it's burning out quickly. If she can't get away, it's my fault. I tear chuck the whole canister into the empty well and in a second, I met Lucy's eyes.

Seconds later, the world burst into a breathless silence and a beautiful light. All I could remember is her face.

 **[A/N: I had to slip in the Lockyle. Thank you Celestialite for confirming that there was no piano. He can sell it, or it can break, or something because the memories with it are too painful, before he starts up Lockwood and Co.]**


	6. Interviews

**[Interview:**

 **Disclaimer: :( Only thing I own is Mattie and Darm. That is a made-up agency that I found in the murky depths of my strange mind. Grimble and the other one I found in the book (duh).**

 **A/N: Okay, this is ligersrcool idea that I've written: the interview-in Lockwood's POV! Woo! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the previous chapters! :) Cookies to reviews and to weeziewoo and MehScrewIt for following! () ( ) (::) P.S: next chapter** _ **will**_ **be doing some more scenes from the book, but I'll get back on track as soon as possible with the childhood stuff, unless you have another suggestion, but scenes from The Whispering Skull will be harder, because I don't own the book... :( This one is quite a long chapter, enjoy!]**

 **EDIT: yeek, reading old fanfictions you have written is so WEIRD.**

I was pleased with that new article. Sure, it said that the company was "well-known," which was a bit of an exaggeration, and I don't doubt that _Kipps_ will try to jeopardise the whole mission of finding a new assistant. Hopefully no one will ask what happened to the previous assistant.

I _was_ interviewing a smartly dressed girl who was rather posh. She wore a frilled skirt and high heels, and had an expensive handbag in her hand. I've never understood that. Who cares what it looks like? If it carries your stuff, and it isn't flimsy, it would do for me.

She was actually very good, but then she met the murderers watch. Oh Lord, she can scream. She went as white as freshly fallen snow and then dropped it. Nearly fell out her chair, so I thought, wow, she's _really_ sensitive, and, hmm... Maybe too sensitive.

She gave a little shout and then whispered,

"Why was that in an interview?" I smile, they always ask ridiculous questions. Everyone had asked the same question.

"To test your capability."

"Well, I don't think that that should have been used in an interview," Here we go again, I was tempted to roll my eyes.

"Well, if you complete the interview, and get the job, then you can help organise the next interview."

"Well, maybe I don't want the job." her voice getting louder, and louder and louder. I could almost see George's ridiculous grin.

"Well, that's fine then, I'm sure you know where the door is."

"Where are your supervisors? Hm? I would like to meet them and complain." Ah. Touchy subject for people like this girl.

"We, er, have no supervisors at this agency..."

"No supervisors? Well no wonder. This place is a _mess_. From that _boy_ at the door, to his stupid complaints and discouragement." Oh George... What have you done... I did tell him to be nice... "So I thought, 'Oh, well you can't like everyone at an agency' but obviously you  can _hate_ everyone at an agency. Because I hate _YOU_ and _HIM_ and I hate the lot of you. He has no respect for anyone! _YOU_ should have shown me in. At least _YOU_ know _some_ respect for a girl. I'm sensitive you know..." Hm... Very much a sensitive person. She hadn't finished... When she had finished, her voice was, well, very loud, and then she flounced out, tripped over a lump in the carpet, but then got up again, and then she walked out, swore roundly at George, and then she walked out and slammed the door.

I put the items in the coffee table draw, stood by the sofa, smiled brightly, and waited for the next interviewee to come in.

 **.o0O0o.**

"I win, George, I _knew_ there was one more." It was a girl, around my age. She walked over. She was obviously concentrating, maybe she was already using her psychic abilities. Anyway, she walked over, and then she shook my hand. Firm grip. That was always a good sign.

"Hello. I'm Anthony Lockwood." she studies me,

"Lucy Carlyle." I smile again,

"Very good to meet you. Tea? Or has George already offered you some?" George waved his hand in a don't care way,

"I thought I'd wait until the first test was done. See if she was still here. I've wasted enough tea bags this morning."

"Why not give her the benefit of the doubt, and go put the kettle on?" George put on his 'yeah right' face, that I had gotten used to over the years of knowing him.

"All right-but I reckon she's a bolter." he spun away and trudged off.

I gesture the girl, Lucy, to sit down, my mother used to say it was impolite to sit down before the guest,

"You'll have to excuse George," Which I hope she translated into, not hate George for being a grumpy ass, "We've been interviewing since eight, and he was _so_ convinced the last girl was the final one." Lucy gave me an apologetic look,

"Sorry about that. I'm afraid I haven't bought you any donuts either." eh? How does she know we like donuts?

"What makes you say that?"

"George told me about your daily deliveries."

"Oh," Phew, "For a moment there I thought you were psychic."

"I am." Wha-oh. Yes, not many people remember that psychic has more than one meaning,

"I mean, in an unusual way," because sensing ghosts and hunting them is so normal for a child to do… "Never mind."

I sit down opposite her and smooth out the papers: Lucy Carlyle, Northern England, Grade Four, blah blah blah, all seemed well.

"I see from your letter that you're from the north of England. From Cheviot Hills." That rung a bell, "Wasn't there a famous outbreak in that district a few years back?" she nods,

"The Murton Colliery Horror. Yes. I was five then."

"Fittes agents had to come from London to deal with the visitors, didn't they? It was in my _Gazetteer of British Hauntings_." Actually, I heard it from George, but oh, well. She nodded again, and told me,

"We weren't meant to look, in case they took our soul, and everyone had boarded up their ground floor windows, but I peeped out anyway. I saw them drifting in the moonlight down the middle of the road. Wee slips of things like little girls." I frowned and gave a confused look,

"Girls? I thought they were the ghosts of miners who died in an accident underground." She informs me they were shapeshifting ghosts. I nod, "That rings a bell... OK, so you obviously knew from early on that you had a Talent. You had the sight, of course, more than most of the other kids, and bravery to use it. But, according to your letter, that wasn't your real strength. You could listen too. And you had the power of Touch."

"Well," she started, "Listening's my thing, really. As a kid in my cot, I used to hear voices whispering in the street-after curfew, when all the living things were inside. But, I've got good Touch too, though that often merges with what I hear. For me, Touch sometimes triggers echoes of what's happened." I nod again,

"George can do a bit of that. Not me. I'm tone-deaf when it comes to Visitors. Sight's my thing. Death glows and trails, and all the ghoulish residues of death." I grin, this was cheerful, "Cheerful subject, isn't it? Now then, it says here you started out with a local operative up north..." I check the paper, "Name of Jacobs. Correct?" she smiled blandly,

"That's right."

"You worked with him for several years."

"Yes."

"So he trained you up, did he? You got your Fourth Grade qualifications with him?" she shifts in her chair. Hm, I'd say she exaggerated, she's probably only gone up to third.

"That's right. Grade One through Four."

"Ok..." I look at her, "I notice you haven't actually brought your final certificates. Or indeed any letter of referral from Mr Jacobs. That's a little unusual, isn't it? Official references are normally provided in these situations." she took a deep breath.

"He didn't give me any. Our arrangement ended... abruptly," I say nothing, I wait, "If you want a full story, I can give it. It just... It's something I don't like dwelling on, that's all." She waited, as if worried that I would want an explanation, but I didn't. I smile,

"Some other time then." I think of what I can say to stop an awkward silence from happening. Awkward silences weren't good _at all_ in interviews, "You know, I can't see what's keeping George. A trained baboon could have made tea by now. It's really time for the tests." Well, that went well. Just trash her reviews on George some more. Well, it was his fault for being a moody old cow, or, more rightly said, a moody _baboon_. I smile inwardly at my joke. The girl-Lucy-speaks again, a little hastily,

"Yes, what tests _are_ these? If you don't mind me asking."

"Not at all," I reply, "It's just what we use to assess the candidates. Frankly, I don't set much store by people's letters or referrals, Ms Carlyle." As my mother and father learnt the hard way, "I prefer to watch their talent with my own eyes..." I check my watch, what on Earth was keeping George? "I'll give George another minute." Before I march in there and tell him to stop raiding the cupboards, "In the meantime, I suppose you want a rundown on us. We're a new agency, been registered three months. I got my full licence last year." Really, I got it a lot later than last year. More like last week it took to shake off DEPRAC, and stop them from spying on us, "We're accredited with DEPRAC, but-just to be clear-we're not on their payroll, like Fittes and Rotwell or any of that mob." Grimble, Tamworth, Mattie and Darm, gosh, I could go on forever, "We're independent, and we like it that way. We take the jobs we want, and we turn down the rest. All our clients are private customers," or DEPRAC spies, "who have a problem with Visitors," or us, "and want it sorted quickly and quietly," minus Mrs Andrews, "We solve their problems," minus the Fendel Lane case, and the case of the missing scarf, and the Rinderski Torch. I didn't _mean to_ set fire to Barnes coat. Well... "They pay us handsomely," slight over exaggeration, "That's about the size of it. Any questions?"

Lucy sat forward on the sofa, and she shuffled herself into a more I-actually-care-about-this-job-now-that-I-know-I-actually-have-a-chance position and asked,

"Who are your supervisors? Do I get to meet them too?" I frown, the concept of a _supervisor_ sends shiver down my back.

"No supervisors here. No adults. It's my company. I'm in charge." Oh, that tone was nasty. Oops, "George Cubbins is deputy." I check that she isn't frowning in a disapproving OMG-there-are-no-supervisors-it's-the-end-of-the-world way, like the girl before, and continue, "Some applicants had a problem with this set-up, but _they_ didn't get very far. Does it bother you?" Hopefully not,

"Oh no," she reassures me, "No, I like the sound of it just fine. There was a brief silence, where she recollected her thoughts, "So..." What happened to avoiding the awkward silences? "there've always been just the two of you? Just you and George?" Ah, now we should explain poor Robin. Just pray it doesn't put her off the job...

"Well, we usually have an assistant. Two's enough to deal with most Visitors, but for tough cases all three of us go along. Three's the magic number, you know." She nods slowly,

"I see. What happened to your last assistant?" Ah. I was hoping to avoid this topic entirely.

"Poor Robin? Oh, he... moved on." She looked confused,

"To another job?" This girl was way too inquisitive. It was slightly off putting, how she seemed to notice anything and everything already. Good for an agent though.

"Perhaps "passed on" would be more accurate. Or, indeed, "passed over". Ah-good! Tea!" Phew, as long as George took, he timed his entrance well.

Lucy regarded George with a look of already forming waves of hatred. That wasn't good.

"Still here? Thought you'd have scarpered by now."

"Haven't done the test yet, George. You're just in time."

"Good." George took the largest mug, typically, and sat down on the sofa.

"Come on, take a biscuit." I push the plate towards her, "Please. George'll only eat them all, else." She accepted the offer of biscuits and then sat forward slightly. I took a bite of my own and then brushed my hands together. It was time, "Right. Just a few tests, Ms Carlyle. Nothing to worry about at all. Are you ready?" I hope so. She looked ready, and you could tell she had done some pretty dangerous things, by the look in her eyes. I was certainly excited to watch _this_ interview.

"Sure." Even George was displaying his excitement in his strange way too.

"We might as well start here, then." I stretch out my hand and take the handkerchief off the silver-glass, "What do you think this is?" Lucy studied the glass, then replied,

"It's silver-glass. Made by Sunrise Corporation." I nod, and smile, urging her to go on.

Lucy bent forward slightly and tapped the glass with her finger. The skull inside it thickened its smoke and made a face. Lucy jerked back from the glass, obviously surprised, and cleared her throat,

"Well, it's a ghost-jar. The skull's the Source, and that ghost is tied to it. Can't tell what sort. Phantasm or a Sceptre, maybe." She sat back in a nonchalant position, much like George's when he's angry. I smile.

"Yes, that's right." I sound like my year one teacher: constant praise, "Well done."

George sipped his tea loudly.

"She was shaken. You could see it." George commented. Lucy ignored the comment and I could almost immediately see that these two were _not_ going to get along with each other.

"Where did you get the jar? I thought only Rotwell and Fittes had them."

"Time for questions later." I evade the question like a pro, and open the draw in the coffee table and bring out the red box, "Now, I'd like to test your Talent, if I may. I've got some items ready. Please tell me, it you can-" I open the box dramatically and put George's toothbrush holder onto the table, "What supernatural resonance you detect here."

Lucy closed her eyes and ran her ringers over the surface of the cup. She shakes her head and tried again. George slurped his tea. She continued this for a few minutes, before giving up.

"I'm sorry. I can't detect anything." I nod,

"I should hope not. This is the cup that George keeps his toothbrush in. Good, on to the next." I pick up the cup and toss it to George, who could it with a snort of laughter. The girl's- _Lucy's_ (I have to keep on reminding myself of her name)- cheeks went scarlet and she took the handle of her rucksack.

"I'm not to be made fun of. I'll find my own way out."

"Ooh," George said, "Feisty." She looked at him,

"That's right, step over here and I'll show you exactly how feisty I am." George blinked, he wasn't used a comeback, certainly not one from an interviewee that he thought would be running away from these tests,

"I might just do that."

"I don't see you moving."

"Well," George and his excuses, again, "it's a deep sofa. It's taking me a while to get out of it."

"Hold on." I say. I don't want these two fighting in my living room, my _parents'_ living room, "Both of you. This is an interview, not a boxing match. George: shut up. Ms Carlyle: I apologize for upsetting you, but it was a serious test, which you passed with flying colours. You'd be amazed how many of our interviewees this morning have made up some cock-and-bull story about poison, suicide or murder. It'd be the most haunted cup in London if even the mildest of the tales were true." Really, what's the point in coming for an interview, if you then make up a story about something you _aren't_ getting any supernatural resonance from? "Now then, please sit down. What can you tell me about these?"

I take out the knife, the ribbon, and the watch. Lucy gave a steely glance at George, and then spread the objects a little bit further apart, which is exactly what I would have done, if it had been me. She picked them up, one-by-one, and tested each of them three times, which is also what I would have done, if I had been the interviewee, not the interviewer.

She took a drink of her tea.

"Did any of your other applicants get this right?" she says, quietly, and I smile,

"Did you?"

"The echoes were hard to disengage, which I suppose is why you threw them at me all together." My smile broadens slightly, "They're all strong, but distinct in quality. Which do you want first?"

"The knife," It was my uncle's.

"OK. The knife has several conflicting echoes: a man's laughter, gunshots, even-possibly-birdsong." Exactly right, "If there's death attached to this-which I suppose there must be, since I can sense this- it wasn't sad or violent in anyway. The feeling I got from it was gentle, almost happy." I wanted to smile, but I also didn't want anything to give it away, so I did my best poker face, as I did with all the other applicants,

"How about the ribbon?"

"The traces on the ribbon are fainter than the knife's, but much stronger in emotion." Correct, "I thought I heard weeping, but it's terribly indistinct." Also correct! This girl is good, "What I get so strongly with it is a sense of sadness; when I was holding it, I thought my heart would break."

"And the watch?" George was interested now: he had turned a page.

"The watch..." She took a deep breath, "The echoes here aren't as strong as on the ribbon or the knife, which makes me think that the owner hasn't died-or not while wearing it, at any rate." Yes, yes, "But there's death attached to it nonetheless. A lot of death. And... it isn't pleasant. I heard voices raised and... and screaming, and-" Lucy shuddered and looked at the watch, which was gently glinting in the hot sun, "It's a vile thing, and I couldn't hold it for long. I don't know what it is or where you got it, but no one should be touching it, not ever. Certainly not for a stupid interview."

She leaned forward and took the last two biscuits. Horror came upon me, and I could sense George was also pained by this. There was a long silence, "Well, I guess I know where the door is."

"Tell her the biscuit rule." George said, making Lucy turn around to stare at him in confusion,

"What?"

"Tell her, Lockwood. We'll have to get this straight or there'll be hell to pay." That made sense. Most of what George said did make sense, you just had to think about what he said first. I nod,

"The rule here is that each member of the agency only takes one biscuit at a time in strict rotation. Keeps it fair, keeps it orderly. Nicking two in times of stress just isn't done."

"One biscuit at a time?" Lucy looked at George and I in comprehension.

"That's right."

"You mean I've got the job?"

"Of course you've got the job."

 **[A/N: Sorry, that took a while. I've been on hols, and the computer is really slow :( Thank you to all who reviewed Haircut though, much appreciated! Though, I have been scouring the book for mini Locklye scenes and stuff, so after a Christmas Locky Story and the SS scene, I'll do that.]**

 **EDIT: MY BLIND FAITH THAT I WOULD DO UPDATE THIS THING JUST LIKE THAT, UGH OMG...**


End file.
